


you've known it the whole time

by alecbaenes



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Sam Ecklund, Gay Peter Maldonado, M/M, Peter is a huge idiot when it comes to feelings, and bein the normal teenage boy he is, jealous!peter, makes a whole investigation to figure it all out, yes ik paige is a year older than them but please indulge me in my inexplicable stanning of her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 16:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alecbaenes/pseuds/alecbaenes
Summary: There are many things Peter Maldonado doesn’t know for sure. He’s just a teenage boy, after all. Sometimes that bothers him, but he knows he has time to figure them out, which is part of the reason he loves being a documentarian so much. Setting out to find the truth, of others and within himself.But one of the things he doesn’t know is threatening to shatter one of the unequivocal truths in Peter’s life, and that scares him.Sam Ecklund is keeping something from him.





	you've known it the whole time

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! i was trying to work on one of my other fics but american vandal has taken over my life again and i couldn't write anything else before getting this out of my head. shout out to the av discord and the legendary jany for all the support and help! the title is from what you know by two door cinema club. hope you enjoy!

There are a few things Peter Maldonado knows for sure.

One: You can never get enough B-Roll.

Two: The quadratic formula. Thanks to every single math teacher in the history of ever.

Three: Sam Ecklund is his best friend.

They had been since the fifth grade. Peter was the new kid at Oceanside Elementary, and he wasn’t exactly the coolest, wearing glasses that were too big for his face and hands that were constantly clutching an inhaler. Sam wasn’t that much better, with braces and big ears, but he was goofy and got along with others. Other people he had known pretty much his whole life.

It feels like forever ago, but every once in awhile Peter fondly looks back on the first time they met, even though it wasn’t so pleasant at the time. He’d been alone on the playground at recess, kicking the tanbark to let out his frustration at his parents for getting a divorce, his mom for upending his whole life and moving. He knew nobody, and he was sure he was destined to be friendless for the rest of his days. All he wanted to do was go home.

Meanwhile, some boys had been playing soccer on the field, and Sam had kicked the ball way too far, smacking Peter in the face and giving him a bloody nose. Sam had run over and freaked out, and Peter wasn’t keeping it together either, tearing up and yelling at him. The other boy had brought him to the nurse’s office, taking off his Spider-Man sweater so that Peter could use it to stop the blood from spurting everywhere.

Sam still brings that up whenever they get into a spat, and to be fair it was a pretty big sacrifice for a ten-year-old.

Despite the rocky start, the two of them had ended up talking about their favorite movies as they waited for the bleeding to stop, and their shared obsession with _The Goonies_ was the catalyst for many weekends hanging out in Peter’s attic marathoning films, and eventually making some of their own.

He didn’t have many friends, but he certainly wasn’t friendless as he had thought he would be six years ago. Not with someone as great as Sam.  

There are many things Peter Maldonado doesn’t know for sure. He’s just a teenage boy, after all. Sometimes that bothers him, but he knows he has time to figure them out, which is part of the reason he loves being a documentarian so much. Setting out to find the truth, of others and within himself.

But one of the things he _doesn’t_ know is threatening to shatter one of the unequivocal truths in Peter’s life, and that scares him.

Sam Ecklund is keeping something from him.

He first picks up on it just after Netflix obtained the rights to _American Vandal_.

Peter was never the type to party, or really be invited at all, but the doc changed that. He wasn’t just that nerdy kid on the morning announcements to the students of Hanover anymore. That’s not to say he was popular with a capital ‘P’, he was still asthmatic, dressed almost solely in oversized hoodies, and spent most of his time editing in his attic or watching independent films at the Star. But over junior year he had been to a couple more parties, which were sort of fun, until you get caught sneaking back late at night. He hadn’t been partying this summer because of that, but when your documentary gets picked up by Netflix, you can’t really deny a celebration.

He had insisted that if they had to have a party, it would just be a small gathering of everyone who had worked on the doc, plus Dylan and the other Wayback Boys. He was excited to reunite with Gabi, who had been off at Juliard the past year. They had texted and skyped some, but he hadn’t talked to her as much as Sam did. Someone ended up letting out the fact that _Vandal_ was going mainstream, and Gabi’s house became filled with Hanover High kids and some of the Class of ’16. When Peter and Sam showed up, Dylan and Lucas lifted them off the ground, getting everyone to cheer for them as Peter begged to be put down.

It didn’t really take a genius, or a corkboard filled with string to figure out who had invited everyone.

The party was exactly what he didn’t want, especially because the public wasn’t really supposed to know about the deal, only being finalized earlier that week. Still, it was nice getting so much support, and he was so psyched about _Vandal_ that his mood couldn’t be soured.

Peter played a few drinking games with Dylan, and raced Ming at chugging a beer (Ming won). Somewhere along the line, Peter had stripped off his hoodie due to the suffocating summer heat mixed with teenage sweat. He wasn’t sure where it ended up, but someone squeezed his bicep and asked him how he got so toned when he had such bad asthma. It seemed like everyone was ‘interested’ in Peter—he was constantly receiving congratulatory pats on the back and being forced into awkward small talk. People kissing up and asking to be added to the documentary now that it was going to be even bigger.

He searched for Sam, wanting to be with someone who gave a shit about him for who he was, and not because he was some Netflix documentarian now. He weaved through the crowds of plastered kids dancing to music that was way too loud. Peter eventually found him in the basement along with a couple of theater pals and their mutual friends, including Gabi, Randall and Phil, and the Wayback boys. They were sitting in a circle, some lounging on the sofa and the others sitting on the floor, laughing and drinking.

Sam looked up as Peter walked down the stairs and grinned dopily, “Pete, hey!”

Peter nodded to him, noting Sam’s rosy cheeks, messy hair, and the empty beer bottles beside him. Yeah, he was drunk already.

“C’mon Peter, sit down,” Gabi beckoned him, scooting over on the sofa so that he could squeeze in, “We’re about to play Never Have I Ever.”

Sam laughed from his spot on the floor, “Yeah, like Peter would have any reason to drink.”

The comment stung slightly, though it wasn’t untrue. Peter wasn’t very experienced, at least in terms of partying or sex. Being reckless wasn’t his forte, but he also wasn’t opposed to getting tipsy or having a relationship—he just never liked anyone like that.

Maturely, Peter glared and gave him the finger, plopping down next to Gabi.

At first the game started of mostly general, like ‘never have I ever skinny dipped’ (Gabi, Paige, and Spencer drank), or ‘eaten an edible’ (The Wayback Boys-- obviously, Sam, Phil).  As Sam had predicted, Peter had yet to take a shot.

Then, it started to get more and more specific, targeting certain people to drink.

"Never Have I Ever hooked up with Pat Micklewaite,” one of the boys proclaimed, smirking. God, even the mention of him made Peter shudder.

Paige Wodecki rolled her eyes and threw back a shot of vodka, “Thanks, asshole.”

“Y’all, we need to get Peter to drink,” Lucas said, and was met with noise of agreement. “Dude’s not wasted and he’s hella boring.”

“Isn’t it against the rules to target someone?” Peter protested, “And I’m not boring.”

“You know I appreciate you and all dude,” Dylan started, “But you’re trying to enforce rules in a _drinking game_. That’s pretty boring.”

Peter scoffed, “It’s a game. They’re meant to have rules.”

“Never Have I Ever produced a documentary about 27 dicks,” Ganj said.

“This is ridiculous,” Peter rolled his eyes but drank, face screwing at the awful taste.

“That’s not fair!” Sam argued, “If you want to get Peter drunkerer, you can’t like, say something that I’ve done too.”

Peter refilled his shot, “Drink up, Ecklund.”

He sent Peter a look, but Sam did as he was told, licking his lips to pick up the drops of whiskey that had escaped before leaning back.

“Okay, okay,” Lucas grinned, “I’ve got one. Never Have I Ever jerked off to American Apparel catalogues.”

Peter groaned as Sam cheered, still embarrassed that all of Hanover High knew about it. Logically he knew he deserved it, after exposing Sam’s crush and accusing him of the dicks, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying when people asked Peter what he was going to do now that the store went out of business.

The burning sensation wasn’t quite as bad the second time, though the couple beers he had before were probably a factor. Peter wasn’t a seasoned drinker, but he was okay at keeping himself sober enough, too afraid he’d do something stupid and regrettable. When you’re downing shot after shot, it’s a little harder to clear your head.

Spencer said he’d never had a threesome, but took a shot right after, and Lucas reminded what the point of the game was.

"Oh, dude, my bad. I’ll just take a penalty shot,” Spencer said.

Next to Peter, Gabi shook her head, “No, you don’t have to—”

Spencer chugged some of his Fireball, and everyone in the circle gasped.

“Spence, you’re fucking crazy dude!” Dylan exclaimed, clapping him on the back.

The action didn’t seem to sit right with the long-haired boy though, and he quickly excused himself to throw up.

Sam laughed, “Well. Who’s next?”

A couple more rounds passed until Peter drank again, after one of Sam’s theater friends said they’d never broken a bone. He’d broken his arm in sixth grade, and he spent part of his summer stuck in a blue cast, sitting at pool parties like Emily Hershey’s, only able to dip his toes in.

"Neeeeeeeeeeeverrr have I ever…” Phil Huang thought for a moment, before smirking to himself, “Been in love with my best friend.”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Sam sighed, looking in Gabi’s direction before taking a shot. “I thought I said to drop that.”

Phil shrugged, “Hey, everything is fair game.”

Sam sat up, bottle of whiskey still in his hands as he pointed to Phil, “Fine. Never have I ever had mono.”

Randall and Phil sheepishly drank, and a few people whistled.

They hadn’t been sticking to an order like they were supposed to, but Dylan hadn’t gone yet, and the group figured he deserved a little break from drinking, since he had taken a shot for most of them.

“Uh, well, I’ve done a lot of shit. But… never have I ever spray painted—shit.”

Peter sighed, still disappointed with what Dylan did to Miss Shapiro.

Dylan thought for a moment, “Oh, okay this is easy. Never have I ever kissed someone of the same gender. No homophobe though.”

Ganj took her shot easily, but it wasn’t too surprising considering she came out as lesbian in her sophomore year. After her Randall and Phil drank, and Peter looked over to Sam, expecting him to be congratulating himself on the confirmation that the two of them had kissed.

Instead, Sam’s eyes were flitting around nervously, landing on Peter for just a second before trying to discreetly take a shot.

Peter felt his heart skip a beat, because, _what?!_ How did he not know this? It’s not that he cared that Sam had kissed a _guy_ , it was that he had kissed a guy and didn’t tell him. They were supposed to be best friends, be honest with each other. Sure, Peter usually grew bored when Sam would talk about his random crush on some girl, but this seemed different.

Shockingly, no one said anything about the shot, and Gabi continued the next round. Maybe they didn’t see, or maybe they already knew about it? Either way, Peter didn’t know what to do. Did he say something? Keep it to himself and disassociate through the rest of the game trying to figure out what was going on? Peter’s strong suit had never been letting things drop, especially when it concerned secrets his own best friend never told him.

He looked over at Sam, who caught his gaze and swallowed thickly, eyes pleading him to shut the fuck up just this once.

So, for once he did. But the room felt like it was closing in on him and he needed a moment to freak out and process by himself, so he bolted up and ran up the stairs, pausing at the top to catch his breath.

By some act of God, Gabi’s room was empty, so he locked himself inside. He’d only been pacing and panicking for a couple minutes before someone started pounding on the door.

"Uh, occ-occupied!” Peter yelled, praying they’d go away.

“Pete, it’s Sam,” he heard a body thump on the other side of the door, “Can you _pleaaaaase_ let me in?”

Peter stepped closer to the door, “I don’t really want to talk to you right now.”

“Well I’m gonna stay out here until you let me in. And I can barely stand right now. I’m like, super fucking dizzy from running up all those steps.”

Peter sighed, pushing up his glasses and unlocking the door so Sam could come in. The lanky boy had been leaning against it, and as the door swung open, Sam fell into Peter. Thankfully, Peter was just sober enough to keep them from both toppling over.

Sam put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, “Dude, listen, I can explain.”

“Can you? Because you didn’t think to do it before,” Peter spat out, untangled himself from Sam.

“Don’t be a dick, Peter,” Sam flopped down onto Gabi’s bed, almost hitting his head on the wall, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d care.”

Peter scoffed, mouth opening and closing before he could speak, “W-wouldn’t care? Do you know how dumb it feels to not know that your best friend is… are you uh, gay?”

“Oh my god, Peter. I’m not—Dude, it was just some stupid… drunk dare at Camp Miniwaka. It didn’t mean anything.”

It was a reasonable explanation, since Camp Miniwaka is where shit goes down, but Sam was biting his lip and avoiding eye contact, which he always did when he was lying. Why wouldn’t he tell him the truth?

“We’re supposed to be honest with each other, Sam,” Peter sat beside him, “We promised each other that after _Vandal_.”

Sam fiddled with the buttons on his flannel, “Yeah, yeah I know.” He looked at Peter, “You just never care about that type of shit, so…”

“I always talk about indie films and directors, and you listen to me even though you think that Captain America film is the height of cinema.”

“Because it _is_ , dude.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Just… Tell me things okay?”

Sam nodded, “’Kay.”

“So… Did you um, like it?” Peter asked awkwardly.

“No, no way did you just ask that,” Sam shook his head, “I’m way too fucking drunk for this.”

He motioned at Peter to move so he could lie down and settled into the pillows.

Peter took off Sam’s shoes, still unsure what to feel about the situation. They had talked about it, and maybe he knew some version of the truth, but Sam lied right in his face when Peter gave him the opportunity to come clean. It wasn’t so much about the kiss itself anymore, it was the fact that Sam was capable of keeping something from him. He knew it wasn’t serious, just a kiss, but it felt like he had been betrayed somehow.

\---

Even though Peter felt like Sam was keeping something from him, he tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. His accusatory nature caused their fight during _American Vandal_ , and maybe Sam had a good reason to not say everything.

It ate at him some nights, but for the most part, life was moving way too fast for him to hold on to the incident. He spent his nights watching edits Netflix sent him for the doc, the new drone shots and theme sequence. Soon enough was the trailer, and in September, _Vandal_ was there for the average Netflix user to view. Peter felt immeasurably proud of what him and Sam did with the doc, and the rave reviews felt surreal.

Otherwise, he was still a high school senior, drowning in schoolwork for AP classes, and he was still caught up in the mania of working on the morning show. Mr. Baxter granted him and Sam some more creative liberty with the announcements, though a lot of Sam’s mini segments such as ‘Pun of the Day’ and, unsurprisingly, ‘A Day in the Life of a Netflix Sensation’ were cut.

Sam nabbed the lead role in the fall play, _Romeo and Juliet_. Some of the students believed he only got it because of _American Vandal_ , but Peter knew Sam was one of the most passionate theatre students at Hanover, and really it was about damn time he got a big part.

They spent most of their evenings doing homework and scouring the _Vandal_ e-mail, and when they had some free time Peter would drag Sam out to the movies or Sam would make Peter go over lines with him.

Peter wasn’t a _horrible_ actor per say, he knew how to inflect his words and get his point across through voiceovers, and his interest in film had given him a few tips over the years. That didn’t mean he really knew what to do with his body though, and he didn’t have the dramatic flair required for a Shakespearian tragedy. Sam had tried to do a scene with Peter playing Mercutio once and shut it down after only a few lines, calling him a disgrace to acting.

Other than that incident, Peter was deemed a fine Benvolio, in Sam’s words, he ‘captured the overly nosy and concerned friend perfectly’. Peter had elbowed him for that one.

The scenes they practiced the most though, were the ones with Juliet. Which, to a certain degree, made sense—they were the most important scenes, and there were a lot of them. What didn’t make much sense was the fact that him and Juliet, Paige Wodecki, were friends. Peter didn’t really get why they couldn’t just practice outside of rehearsal together, especially considering he was a subpar actor, and, well, it was Sam and Paige who were supposed to build up chemistry. Peter was about romantic as a rock.

Sam told him that he was just insecure about working with Paige, because she could be intimidating, and he didn’t want to seem overly-eager to practice kissing scenes like some sort of creep.

Currently they’re in Peter’s attic, Sam trying to go off script and doing a pretty good job. Peter has the play pulled up on his phone off Sparknotes, Act One, Scene Five. Romeo and Juliet’s first meeting. First kiss.

“If my profane with my unworthiest hand,” Sam’s hands shake a bit as they take his own, “This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims—”

Peter tried to use his free hand cover his mouth and keep in his snickers but failed miserably.

“Dude,” Sam groaned, “You _have_ to stop doing that!”

“I’m sorry! It’s just funny that Shakespeare thinks pilgrims are scandalous or like, sexy.”

Sam raised a brow, “You don’t have any authority judging what someone else gets off to.”

“That’s totally different!” Peter argued.

“Is it though?” Sam made a face, “I’d argue it’s weirder that you have free and unlimited access to actual porn and decide not to use it. Shakespeare was _forced_ to get creative.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop laughing!” Peter stopped him from continuing, “Please stop comparing our… habits.”

Sam grinned, and looked down, blinking in surprise. Peter followed his line of sight and noticed that they were still holding hands.

“Uh,” Sam cleared his throat, “Let’s just skip all that pilgrim stuff.”

Peter tore his gaze away from their intertwined fingers and nodded.

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Sam started again, and his hand on Peter’s felt a thousand times heavier, “They pray; grant thou, lest fate turn into despair.”

It took a moment for Peter to remember to look down at his phone screen, having to unlock it from being idle so long.

“S-saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

“Then move not,” Sam took a step closer, so that they were only inches apart, and Peter couldn’t help that his breath hitched slightly. “While my prayer’s effect I take.”

He was expecting them to break apart, since Romeo and Juliet were supposed to kiss, but Sam made no movement, instead giving Peter’s hand a little squeeze. Peter’s gaze travelled down from Sam’s green eyes to his pink lips, slightly parted and plush.

A moment later, Sam stepped back, fingertips brushing Peter’s own as he let go, “And then we, uh, kiss. Paige and I.”

Peter nodded, licking his lips and reaching for his water bottle, mouth feeling incredibly dry all the sudden.

“Well, it’s getting pretty late,” Sam said, checking his phone, “I should get going so my mom doesn’t kill me for missing dinner again.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter readjusted his glasses, watching as Sam hastily packed his backpack, “I’ll see you tomorrow before the morning show?”

"For sure. Night, Pete.”

Peter was left standing in the attic, staring as Sam rushed down the stairs.

What the _hell_ was that about?

\---

Before the morning show started the next day, Sam apologized for acting so weird. He was tired from constant rehearsals, and way too stressed out about the fact that opening night was just a week away, so much that he couldn’t think straight.

And yeah, Peter was no stranger to spreading himself thin over working. He’d get distracted while filming or zone out at dinner, thinking about how to edit a certain segment. That didn’t explain why Sam was in such a hurry to get out of there. Plus, Sam’s sister has posted a snapchat of her In-N-Out, so their mom hadn’t been cooking. What was so important to Sam that he had to lie to Peter?

Their evening rehearsals had stopped after that, so the next time Peter saw Sam-as-Romeo was on opening night. Peter had already planned to go to all three performances, both to support his best friend and because he really had nothing better to do. Now, there was, admittedly, an ulterior motive. Keep tabs on Sam and try to figure out what he was hiding.

Peter always thought _Romeo and Juliet_ was pretty dumb, because really, was it _that_ hard to avoid a plan that was so full of holes that it ended in double suicide? When he had read it in freshman year he brought that exact point up, giving five other plausible scenarios that let them live and run away together. Mrs. Harris hadn’t enjoyed his push back, telling him that the play wasn’t about logic, but about how their beautifully intense love ultimately blinded them.

So yeah, the play was stupid. Peter could never see himself being so in love that he was completely blind to logic and reason.

Despite his dislike for the play, he thought Sam and Paige did amazing. It was sort of strange seeing Sam as a romantic lead, as he often assumed the role of the comic relief character in all the other plays. Even weirder was seeing the two of them kiss, passionate and full of the desperation two dumb teenagers would have. The flirtatious smile playing on Sam’s lips, his hand holding Paige’s the same way he held Peter’s.

The second night, Peter’s mom had joined him, and in the lobby afterwards Sam had made a comment about her looking as ‘fair as the Lady Juliet’. She had laughed, and Peter had swatted at Sam as soon as she turned around to talk to Ming’s mom.

On closing night, the drama department was selling flowers to give to the actors, and Peter decided to purchase a rose for Sam. He debated for a couple minutes if it would be weirder for him to give one to Sam or _not_ to, but ultimately decided he had Netflix money to blow.

Since this was his third time seeing it in a row, Peter tuned out the words in favor for studying the way the stage lights hit the angles of Sam’s face, making his green eyes glimmer. He had been acting normal the past few days, or as normal as Sam usually did during show week. He’d get super excited about what went right, nitpick what went wrong, usually blaming it on the ‘dumbass underclassmen’. Opening night Sam went out with his family for dinner afterwards and sent Peter a snapchat of him and his cat to say goodnight. Last night he was scrambling to turn in an essay he’d forgotten was due.

What worried Peter was the fact that tonight was the cast party, and even though Sam tried to sneak Peter in almost every time, the other drama kids denied him entry. Which was pretty ridiculous considering how much he rehearsed with Sam, to the point where he could’ve been Paige’s understudy. And like. They have a show on _Netflix_. You’d think they’d be kissing up to them.

Sure, there were usually excessive amounts of snapchats from these, mostly featuring the weirdly nerdy yet horny theatre kids dancing, and a small group of pissed off cast members shading the leads. But Sam didn’t really use social media, ‘not believing in it’. Which again, bullshit, because yeah, he doesn’t post a lot, but they always send each other snaps. Plus, there’s hard evidence proving Sam retakes the same selfie dozens of times before choosing the right one to send his crush.

Point is, it’s hard to tell what Sam’s going to do tonight. If he’s going to do whatever he’s been keeping from Peter.

A group of freshman girls whispering behind him pull Peter from his thoughts, and he sees that Romeo and Juliet are saying are saying their goodbyes before Romeo is banished.

“He’s _so_ cute.”

“Isn’t he the guy that did that dick doc?”

“Ugh, then he’s probably dating that Gabi chick.”

“No, do you live under a fucking rock?” One of the girls scoffed, “She was tagged in a picture by her new Juliard boyfriend. He’s _hella_ fine.”

Maybe that was why Sam was being so weird lately. He had drunk to being in love with his best friend at the Netflix celebration, so he’d still been crushing on Gabi over the summer. Peter knew how hard Sam fell for his crushes. It would make sense that he’d be all out of whack.

On stage, Sam smiled, waxing poetic as he cupped Paige’s cheek.

"God, he’s just so hot,” One of the girls continued, “I swear I’m like, blessed when the announcements come on.”

Another hummed in agreement, “Yeah. I’d stab myself for him too.”

Okay, _what_? Sure, Sam had a few girlfriends in middle school, and was generally viewed as the loveable goofy kid, but he’d never heard someone describe him as _hot_ —certainly not to the point of suicide. Peter could see cute, and Sam objectively looked nice under the glowing lights, but it just seemed unrealistic for a group of girls to be fawning themselves over him.

They continued, but Peter grew sick of hearing how Sam would be such a good boyfriend, as if they knew him at all, so he turned around and shushed them. The embarrassed looks on their face as they realized he was Sam’s best friend was worth it.

After the play, Peter hung back, watching as people went up to congratulate Sam for his stellar performance. The group of freshman girls went up to him as well, gushing as he nodded along awkwardly.

“That rose for me, Maldonado?” Paige Wodecki walked up, holding two massive bouquets.

“Oh, uh, well no,” Peter stammered, looking over to where the girls were still bothering Sam, his face all red now. “But you were really great.”

Paige grinned, “Relax, I was just messing with you. Though you better think I did great. You did come like, every single night.”

Peter flushed, “Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just a… Shakespeare fiend!”

“Funny,” Paige said, “Sam said he was pretty sure you hated _Romeo and Juliet_. Must be a really good friend to practice all the time with him.”

The words were innocuous, but her tone was not—saying something without _really_ saying it. He wasn’t sure what Paige was implying. That he was a liar? Because lately, it seemed like the liar was Sam. Was she upset that Sam practiced without her? Or did she think Peter liked Sam. As in _more_ than a friend. Which, in that case, was more ridiculous than the theory that Mrs. Shapiro and Dylan did the dicks together. They were best friends, spent all their time together. Peter was pretty sure if he was in love with his best friend he’d notice.

Paige seem pleased at how confused Peter looked, because she smiled and said goodbye.

He looked down at the rose in his hand, suddenly self-conscious. Would Sam think something more of it? Would everyone else?

Peter didn’t have a chance to make it all the way to the trash can, because the man of the hour approached him.

“I know I’m like, a certified teen heartthrob now that _Vandal’s_ popular—”

Peter rolled his eyes, “You’re really not.”

"Okay, hater. Anyways, those girls were kind of crazy. I tried to leave like, five times.”

One of the other cast members walked by, ruffling Sam’s hair and congratulating him.

“I’ll see you in a bit, dude!” Sam waved, his other hand holding a small bouquet.

Peter fixed his glasses, “I, uh, got you a flower. You did really great Sam.”

Sam smiled and took the rose from him, “Thanks man. I couldn’t have done it without all your help.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Peter shrugged, “You worked on the doc with me. We’re partners.”

Sam scratched at the back of his neck, “Hey, you wanna try sneaking into the cast party again?”

"I think Paige Wodecki hates me, so, no,” Peter shook his head.

Sam’s brows furrowed, “What? Why’d you think—"

“Sam-I-Am, green eggs and ham!” Scott Winter threw his arm around Sam, “Bro, you _killed_ it up there!”

Peter made a face, because one, that was the worst nickname Peter had heard in his life. Two, how in the hell did Sam and the old captain of the swim team know each other?

Sam went all red and blotchy, patting Scott on the chest before pulling away, “Dude, what are you doing here? Don’t you go to UCSD?”

“I’m drove up for my sisters b-day. Just my luck that my favorite camper was performing.”

Someone pinch Peter, because he was pretty sure he was in a very weird dream, or some twisted alternate reality.

“Uh.”

At this extremely intelligent comment, Scott noticed Peter and gave him one of those cool guy nods, “Oh, what’s up bro?”

The axis of Peter’s world had been so tilted during this encounter that he didn’t know what to do, so he ended up attempting to nod back, something he’d never done in his life. Sam’s face scrunched up, and he looked at Peter like, ‘what the fuck are you doing?’. An expression conveying ‘I don’t know, but I’ve seen this dude’s _very_ naked penis up close and now you’re apparently good pals?’ was not possible, but Peter was pretty sure he got close.

“Uh, Pete, you… know Scott,” Sam pointed between them, “Scott was a lifeguard at Camp Miniwaka this summer.”

Scott nodded, “I needed to make some extra cash before college. I thought Miniwaka was all hype, but it was actually pretty fun.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Is it okay if I steal Sam from you for just a sec?” Scott asked, “I need to talk to him.”

Sam looked at Peter, “We weren’t too busy. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Peter stuffed his fists into his hoodie, eyes following the two as they stepped outside.

 _Steal_? Was he doing everything to get under Peter’s skin? Somehow, Sam not only failed to neglect the fact that he kissed someone at camp, but also made a new best friend. Someone Sam apparently would rather talk to.

He tried to sneakily find a spot where he could see what was happening, but the trend of people interrupting Peter continued.

This time, it was Sam’s grandma, so he couldn’t be too upset. She made _amazing_ apple pie.

"Oh, Petey, you’ve grown up so much. So handsome. I can’t believe you and Samuel are seniors now.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Irvine,” Peter said, trying to crane his neck and see if he could use his subpar lip-reading skills.

“How many times have I told you to call me Nana. You’re practically part of the family.”

The sentiment warmed his heart, but he could swear he saw Sam saying his name.

“Thanks, _Nana_ ,” Peter corrected himself, squinting as if that would help him see any better.

“Oh dear,” Nana clicked her tongue, turning Peter’s face towards her, “Do you need a new prescription sweetie? I’m sure you could afford it easily with how well your documentary is going. I tried to watch the first episode but… Well, the subject matter was a bit inappropriate.”

Really, Peter would rather be anywhere else than talking to Sam’s grandma about the fact they made a documentary about dicks. He nodded along absently, glancing over every other moment.

Sam had moved so he couldn’t see he face anymore, but he saw Scott put something in his hands, stupid perfect smile on his face.

Was he trying to one up Peter’s flower? Whatever it was, it was small enough for Sam, to hesitantly put in his pocket as he said goodbye to Scott.

 Nana gave Sam a big kiss on the cheek when he came back, Sam trying to rub off the red lipstick left on his cheek like a stamp.

“What’d he wanna talk about?” Peter asked, attempting to not seem overly curious.

Sam shrugged, playing with whatever Scott gave him in his jacket, “Not much. Just wanted to see if I was free tonight.”

“Oh. Too bad you have the cast party tonight.”

"Yeah, I don’t know. I might skip it,” Sam looked down at his shoes.

Yeah, Peter was worried that something was going to happen at the cast party. But he didn’t want Sam to hang out with Scott even more. He didn’t trust that guy.

“Isn’t it kinda lame to be the lead and not go?” Peter pointed out.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Sam responded, “Nana, you’re staying out _way_ past your bedtime. Let’s get you home. I don’t want Gramps yelling at me for enabling your rebellion.”

Peter let Nana give him a hug, sighing as Sam got out of another conversation.

That night he sat as his desk, pulling out one of his old composition notebooks and tearing out the first page, some stupid short film idea that was an obvious _Fight Club_ rip-off. Peter was really trying not to make this a big deal, but things were starting to add up too much. He couldn’t ignore how weird Sam was being.

THE (NEW) CASE AGAINST SAM ECKLUND

  * The Gabi Theory: Sam found out that Gabi’s no longer single, feels heartbroken. It’s making him act weird, but he doesn’t want to admit he was in love with her, so he’s lying to Peter.
  * Pagie Wodecki seems to know something about Sam. Or Peter. Or PeterandSam. Not that he’d ask, because Sam was right about her being intimidating.
  * Sam’s claim that he’s just stressed out from the play. Which, at this point, is not strong enough of an excuse to be viable.
  * Stupid Face Scott Winter: Admittedly, the name is not practicing impartial journalism. But. Really, _what_ is the deal with them??? And what did he give Sam? Money? Drugs?
  * Drug Theory: Sam _had_ tried edibles before. Corroborated by the Never Have I Ever game, and the fact that he had called Peter while he was high, telling him that he was pretty sure he was going to die. For some reason Sam had thought it was detrimental to tell him how stupid his glasses were during his dying moments. And complain about the Spiderman jacket (again). Plus, it would account for how spacey he had been, zoning out during movies staring at Peter. Weird stuff.
  * The Camp Miniwaka Kiss: Something kept leading Peter back to the mysterious kiss. Sam had insisted it wasn’t serious, but if it wasn’t, why was he lying about it? _Vandal_ taught Peter that sometimes the context of the situation was more important than the basic facts. What was going on when they kissed? Who dared them? And who was the ‘he’ Sam kissed?



Peter read over his notes. He felt sort of ridiculous, but it needed to be put down on paper instead of just letting it swim around his head. If Sam knew he was doing this, he’d probably freak. But Peter wasn’t going to let him or let _himself_ get to the point of making a full-on conspiracy board. Part of him would have to trust that Sam would come clean eventually.

\---

November passed by, and things were a little awkward between them. They hadn’t been hanging out as much, busy with homework or college applications. Whoever said senior year was the easiest was lying.

Peter had been desperate enough to ask if Sam wanted to go see the Marvel Movie Marathon the Star was hosting, but even then, Sam couldn’t be bothered. Something was up.

So, when Peter receives the e-mail from Chloe Lyman at the start of December, he’s sort of relieved. Obviously, he feels terrible for the kids at St. Bernadine, but part of him hopes that this investigation will let him and Sam get close again. There was something sort of magical about working on the dick case together, spending long nights trying to undercover clues. Plus, if they’re up in Bellevue, maybe Sam won’t have the opportunity to do whatever he’s been keeping from him.

They talk the whole flight, going over case details, and just catching up. It all reminded Peter just how much he missed having his best friend around, the way his world slowly started to be put back into place. Back to the same three constant truths.

Chloe’s insanely generous and welcoming, and the three of them settle into her guest house. It’s sick, with four huge bedrooms and a state-of-the-art kitchen (not that three teenage boys would know how to use it—at least Peter and Sam don’t, and Ming won’t arrive till the next day). There’s also a huge living room with a cozy fireplace, and that’s where Peter and Sam set up shop.

It’s already evening by the time they unpack, so they explore the house a little more before breaking off on their own once more. Peter busies himself by gathering a little more info and updating the itinerary for the next day, skyping his mom before heading to bed at ten.

The only problem is that there’s this creepy tree outside his window, and he doesn’t want to seem like a total coward, but he can’t sleep. It’s weird not being at home, in his own bed, even though Peter’s certain these sheets are better than his own.

Peter decides to do something stupid. Ask Sam if he could sleep in his room tonight.

He shrugs on his hoodie and puts on his glasses, opening his door to see Sam in front of him, wearing a huge Hanover Drama Department sweatshirt, fist raised.

“Do you have psychic powers I didn’t know about?” his eyes widened, “I was _just_ about to knock.”

Peter chuckled, “No, I was sort of about to go over to your door and do the same.”

“Oh,” Sam leaned against the door frame, “…Why?”

“No, you knocked my door first. _You_ tell me why,” Peter argued, not wanting to confess.

 “Fine,” Sam put his hands up in surrender, though it looked sort of ridiculous because his sleeves were wrapped around them like paws. “There may be a chance that the forest behind Chloe’s is cursed and possibly houses some sort of werewolf. I was coming to warn you.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Peter rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated laugh, “You were scared.”

“And so were you. So, what say you to a movie marathon downstairs on Chloe’s sick ass TV. I’ll make hot cocoa?”

“I say yes, as long as you stop talking in old English,” Peter thought for a moment, “And you better put cinnamon on the whipped cream.”

Sam started walking down the hall backwards, “Oh, I can’t believe you thought I _wasn’t_ going to go all out and make the Sam Ecklund Classic. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

They ended up eating all the popcorn mixed with M&M’s Peter had fixed up twenty minutes into _Mamma Mia_ (Sam’s pick); and passing out in the middle of _Inception_ (Peter’s superior choice), underneath a soft blanket and the remnants of cocoa on their lips.

\---

Peter’s theory was correct—the investigation did make things feel like they were back to normal. They spent their days interviewing students and faculty, and nights piecing together all the clues they had picked up. Sam was no longer avoiding Peter like the plague, and when they did disagree, it was over the case.

Movie nights were reinstated, mostly because Chloe’s TV _was_ sick. Ming joined them a couple times but got annoyed by their commentary and bickering. They had decided to try Kevin’s favorite tea one time and immediately spit it out. Finally, they were PeterandSam once more, their old rapport and instant understanding of one another restored.

Part of Peter had worried that when they returned to Oceanside everything would go back to the way it was before they left. But when that time came, Sam and Peter still had work left to do. Sure, they were busier with classes, but they were expected to have a rough cut of documentary for both Netflix and Mr. Baxter by the end of April. It wouldn’t be the final version, still needing recreations and graphics from Netflix that wouldn’t be finished until the summer, but they needed to gather all the footage and record the voiceovers.

The workload was overwhelming, considering that Peter hadn’t been editing and posting episodes to Vimeo as they made the documentary like two years ago. Most nights were spent in Peter’s attic, working in silence next to each other, save for the occasional input.

Somewhere, their relationship shifted—Peter wasn’t sure when it happened, or what it was exactly, but he felt it. They had always been close, but he found himself missing Sam even though they were together a few hours before. When Sam forced him to listen to One Direction full volume for the millionth time in his own car, belting out the lyrics, Peter found himself not being annoyed, but enjoying the grin on Sam’s face and the cheesy lyrics. He began keeping track of what made Sam red, and not in the ‘Hey, remember when you accidentally said, ‘I love you Mom’ to Mrs. Shapiro in freshman year?’ type of way. The ‘that shirt looks good on you’ and ‘you’re really great’ kind of blush that Peter felt privileged to see.

How soft Sam’s fingertips were when picking up a fallen eyelash on Peter’s cheek, telling him to make a wish. Something he’d always had trouble thinking of, even when he was little and blowing out birthday candles. But almost instantly, Peter had thought, ‘for us to be like this, always’ and blown the lash off Sam’s thumb.

By late March, they were finally close to finishing the rough cut, but Sam and Peter were getting burnt out between the doc and all the other school pressures. Sam suggested they try to go do more fun stuff to relax, which mostly consisted of going out to eat, watching movies, or mini-golfing (Sam’s favorite, because he won 80% of the time).

Maybe it was Sam who had the psychic powers, because Peter was about to throw his AP Calc textbook out of the window in frustration when he texted.

 **sam:** heyy u wanna go grab a burger and theater hop at the star? i’ll let u pick the movies :D

 **peter:** sounds good to me

 **sam:** cool

 **sam:** i’ll b done with this econ project around 3

 **peter:** i’ll pick you up

It was only 2:15, meaning Peter had to suffer through homework a little longer. He tried to jump back into the problem but immediately felt his brain shutting down and slammed his book closed. He could just spend some extra time getting ready and show up early. He was sure Sam wouldn’t mind.

Peter threw on his nice flannel over his black tee, which mostly just meant the edges weren’t frayed and the yellow-orange color wasn’t faded. He stared in the mirror, still feeling a little lackluster—not that he usually put a lot of effort into his outfits, but lately he was motivated to look better.

He rolled up the sleeves a little, remembering them from his… catalogs. After freshening up and brushing his teeth, it was 2:30, and it took about ten minutes to get to Sam’s. Peter could sit around for twenty until Sam finished.

The driveway was empty, so he parked in it and texted Sam that he was there. After a few minutes with no response, Peter let himself in, lifting the garden gnome on the porch for the key. Sassy, the Ecklund’s cat, greeted him, rubbing up against his ankles and purring. At first, she had hated Peter, but he had bribed her to love him with treats and expected some every time he showed up. Which was quite often, so she was plump, and he knew right where they were. He dropped a few on the floor, and after Sassy gobbled them up she escorted him upstairs to Sam’s bedroom.

She put her paw on his closed door, as if telling Peter that he needs to knock. As he approached, he could hear that Sam’s talking to someone.

“Yeah, things are better now-- …Well, no. Obviously I haven’t told him. Why should I even try?”

Silence as he listens to the person on the other line. Peter’s breath hitches—are they talking about him?

“Okay, can you stop bringing up that I lied to him? I was wasted and scared about how he’d react if I told him.”

He took a step closer to the door, pressing his ear against it. The sound of Sam pacing around the room matching up with his own racing heart.

“Don’t call me Samuel, _Gabrielle_. It’s not my fault Peter is the way he is. God, he frustrates me so much sometimes.”

Peter felt a tear roll down his cheek, and he can’t fucking breathe, so he’s stumbling down the stairs and slamming the front door. He’s violently gasping for air by the time he finally unlocks his car and grabs his inhaler, pressing it to his lips and taking a few puffs.

He gives himself a minute to sit in silence, too numb to drive. God, how could he be so fucking stupid? Things between were going so well that he had forgotten all about the lying. Or at least they _seemed_ to be going well— since Sam apparently had to pretend to still care for Peter. To hold back everything that _frustrated_ him.

AP Calc homework was left unfinished as he wallowed in bed, texting Sam that something had come up and he couldn’t go anymore before shutting off his phone. Peter’s mom picked up on his bad mood quickly at dinner, and made his favorite, _arroz con leche_ topped with cinnamon for dessert. It helped comfort him somewhat, but even the sweet treat couldn’t reverse his heavy heart.

\---

The rough cut of _American Vandal_ is expected this month, but Peter can’t find it in himself to work on it, let alone work on it with Sam. He’d texted Peter a few times throughout the week, but Peter only responded once, and on the morning show he did everything he could to avoid being free to talk before and after it was over. On Wednesday he’d overheard Randall and Phil asking Ming what the hell happened between them, to which Ming shrugged helpfully.

Feeling scorned, Peter let himself get swept up in ‘The (New) Case Against Sam Ecklund’, going full on conspiracy board. Maybe him and Sam would never make up, but he’d be damned if he didn’t find out _why_.

His string isn’t as nice as Sam’s, though he doesn’t have much use for it since none of his information seems to be connected. Besides, it’s hard to figure everything out when he doesn’t have someone to bounce theories off of. The only other person who knows Sam as well as he does is Gabi, and she’s both one of the theories, and Sam’s confidant about the whole situation, so she was a dead end.

Stupid Face Scott Winter smiles at him in his yearbook photo, like he knows everything, and maybe he does. He _was_ at Camp Miniwaka over summer.

Peter goes on Facebook and finds him and goes about looking through his pictures for anything useful. Him shirtless, him shirtless and swimming, him shirtless and chugging a beer. Real humble, great guy. Finally, there’s a selfie of him, Sam, and Emily Hershey hanging out on the docs. There are a few other kids, and some alcohol in the back. Maybe this was from the night of the drunk dare. Peter prints out the photo and sticks it on the board, in between Scott and the ‘Miniwaka Kiss?’ post-it.

He’s contemplating whether to drive out to the camp himself and check out the hook up post or not, when he hears Sam’s voice coming up the stairs.

“Pete? I hope you’re not looking at those American Apparel models because I’m coming up!”

His heart drops, scrambling out of his chair to erase the theory whiteboard and flip over the corkboard.

“You’ve been ignoring me all week and it’s fucking weird, dude,” Sam said, voice growing closer, “We need to talk about this. And I need to tell you—”

He’s at the top of the stairs, and Peter _just_ managed to flip the board around. Unfortunately, he’s extremely out of breath, and looking suspicious and he stands in front of it, arms crossed.

Sam’s face went all scrunchy, “Uh, what’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Peter responded way too quickly.

A post-it slowly falls onto the carpet in the space between them. _CAMP MINIWAKA KISS?_

Sam’s face falls as he reads it, eyes turning dark, “Peter. Flip the board.”

“Why?”

“Fuck you, Peter,” Sam spat out, “Get out of the way.”

Peter can’t pretend like everything’s fine anymore and snaps back, “I was already trying to get out of your way—out of your life. Since, you know, I guess I just _frustrate_ you so fucking much.”

His green eyes widen, realizing Peter heard the phone call. Peter holds the upper hand for just a moment, because Sam walks forward and lightly shoves Peter away from the board, flipping it back over.

Sam let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head, “Wow. Just fucking _wow_ , Peter. Somehow, you’ve managed to out dickhead yourself. Bravo.”

“You can’t get mad at _me,_ ” Peter argued, “I’m not the one who’s been lying to my best friend for months.”

Sam scoffed, “No, you’re the one who went Full Peter and conducted a wholeass _investigation_ into your ‘best friend’.” He scanned the board, “I mean, seriously, _drugs_? Here’s a revolutionary thought, Peter, why don’t you ask me what’s going on? Or better, yet, trust me to tell you when I’m ready.”

“Fine then. What the hell’s going on with you?” Peter barked back.

"You really want to know?”

Peter nodded, letting out an indignant huff.

"Okay,” Sam picked up the fallen post-it, sticking it onto Scott Winter’s face before stepping away, “I kissed _him_ at Camp Miniwaka, and I wasn’t drunk or dared to do it, because I’m bi.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, trying to process the information. Sam faced him, crossing his arms.

“I was actually coming over here to tell you that. Because I figured you deserved to know. Because I _trusted_ you enough. I guess my trust was misplaced,” Sam’s eyes welled up, tears fighting not to fall out.

“Sam, I—”

“No. I can’t believe I thought you might’ve actually— You know what? If you wanna go play fucking detective, be my guest,” Sam pointed aggressively at the board, “Go ahead and try to solve the mystery of why you did all of this. I’m sure it will be enlightening.”

He started to walk out, and Peter finally found his voice, “Because you’re my best friend, because I don’t want to lose you!”

“If you think it’s just that, you’re a lot less smart than I thought you were, Peter.”

Sam stormed out of his house, leaving Peter to try to figure out what the _hell_ that vague statement meant.

Peter collapsed on his bed, biting down on his quivering lip in an attempt to keep in the onslaught of emotions and tears threatening to spill out. He felt like such a fucking idiot. Sam had trusted him enough to be so vulnerable, and Peter was too busy trying to dig up something incriminating instead of being there to accept him.

But Sam being bisexual cleared a lot of things up. It explained why he and Scott were so close, and why the old swim captain had taken the time to come watch the play. Why Sam had wanted to skip the cast party. The Gabi Theory was defunct, because Sam was probably into Scott, but it didn’t explain the shot during never have I ever, and why he looked over to her. Sure, he probably _had_ like Gabi beforehand, but when Sam gets a new crush, he gets over the old one quickly. There’s no way he’d be as pissed off as he was towards Phil.

God, he was doing it again. Investigating instead of just trying to talk. He grabbed his phone to text Sam, plead him to meet up and talk. Upon unlocking it, he noticed he’d missed texts from before Sam came over.

 **sam:** idk if ur even gonna see this but i need to tell u something

 **sam:** pete stop ignoring me it fucking sucks

 **sam:** im coming over

Peter sighed, sending him approximately fifteen texts in quick succession. He scrolled up to read their old conversations as he waited for Sam to respond, missing the way they were just a few weeks ago.

 **peter:** dude stop. one flew over the cuckoo’s nest is objectively better than the high school musical franchise. it’s literally considered one of the greatest films ever made.

 **sam:** rlly? does it have the same cultural significance of literally any of the songs from hsm?

 **peter:** yes. it’s in the library of congress. it won the big five oscars.

 **sam:** okay but they dont have kids screaming what time is it every year across the nation when school gets out

 **sam:** there is no way it matches the emotional height of bet on it or gotta go my own way

 **peter:** ur an idiot

 **sam:** I looked it up n theres no homoerotic baseball dance sequence so it’s just never gonna top hsm. sorry bud.

At the time, Peter was livid at the conversation, but now he wished they were fighting over silly shit like that again. He scrolled through selfies from Sam, plans for lunch, decisions over _Vandal_ , and finally landed on the day where he overheard Sam.

 **sam:** heyy u wanna go grab a burger and theater hop at the star? i’ll let u pick the movies :D

Peter just still couldn’t understand why Sam had been frustrated with him then. Now, it made total sense, but if he was upset, why did he ask Peter to hang out? He reread the text, searching for something, anything, to jump out at him.

Holy shit. ‘Heyy’. Two ‘y’s’. Sam wanted the d. Peter’s d, specifically. Sam _liked_ him.

Everything fell into place. Sam had taken the shot because he was in love with _Peter_. He has just assumed that Sam looked at Gabi, but he was right next to her. It was why Sam wanted Peter to practice his scenes with him, why they had that moment and Sam freaked out. How Sam was always staring at Peter while they watched movies, or during the morning show, even the way Sam kept the camera lingering on his face while they filmed in Bellevue. The reason Sam was so frustrated with Peter was because he was so fucking oblivious.

Sam liked Peter, and he’d thought the idea of himself feeling the same was crazy just a few months ago, but now he wasn’t so sure.

It would explain the swelling in his chest every time Sam smiled over at him, the way he couldn’t really think straight whenever his hair was messy, and how his stomach did backflips when Sam hovered over him and rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder whenever he was watching something on his laptop.

If he felt that way about Sam, it made sense why he had gotten so sensitive about the whole situation. Why he’d gotten so jealous about Scott’s stupid face, or really any other crush Sam’s had before. Why he was investigating it all in the first place.

Well, fuck. Peter liked Sam. A lot.

Which, under any other circumstances would be the best revelation, better than figuring out who did the dicks, especially after figuring out Sam liked him back. But Peter had gone and royally fucked it all up.

Now that he knew how he felt though, Peter was going to fix it. He had to.

First, Peter drove to Sam’s house, violating quite a few traffic laws on the way there. Again, there was no one in the driveway, but Sam still didn’t drive so there was a chance he was there. Peter spammed the doorbell, but the only member of the Ecklund family who answered was Sassy, who meowed angrily at him through the glass pane on the door.

He checked Hanover High, searching the theater and the AV Room. The campus was totally empty since it was Saturday, and that included Sam.

There’s no way he’d be at the Star, because that was Peter’s spot, and it would be sort of ridiculous of Sam to go play mini golf after a huge fight. No sign of him at their favorite spot to eat. No text or call back.

Peter was about to give up hope when he remembered one more place Sam could be. Although Peter found the ocean unnerving due to number of unknown creatures in there, Sam enjoyed it. Mostly, Sam liked the beach because there was a great ice cream parlor across the street, and usually when Sam was angry he liked to cope with Rocky Road.

The sun was just about to set when Peter arrived, and it didn’t take long to spot Sam sitting at a bench eating an ice cream cone as he glared into the horizon, as if he glared hard enough the ocean would split in two.

He looked up as Peter approached him, finishing off the rest of his cone and sighing.

“Sam, can we talk?”

For a second Peter was worried he would say no, but Sam shrugged, “Yeah, whatever.”

Peter looked around awkwardly, not wanting to have this conversation around a crowd.

“Can we go for a walk?”

Sam took off his sneakers, standing up silently and walking towards the water.

So, he wasn’t going to make this easy for Peter. Honestly, he deserved it.

Peter took his own shoes off and rushed to catch up to him, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not trusting you and for thinking it was okay for me to treat you like some suspect on _Vandal_ when you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You think I did nothing wrong?” Sam asked doubtfully, moving closer to the water so that he could walk through it.

“Well, you lied, but… I get why you did it,” Peter responded, “I’m sorry that you had to tell me the way you did.”

Sam looked down, watching the way the water washed over his feet, “I mean as long as you don’t, like, hate me because I’m bi now—”

“No! No, that’s definitely not how I feel,” Peter reassured him.

“Okay, then, yeah it sucked but. I don’t know, even though we were yelling at each other I’m glad I said it. Keeping that secret had been hard as fuck, especially from you. You know, my best friend.”

Peter swallowed thickly, “Are we? Still friends?”

“Yeah, I forgive you Pete,” Sam stuffed his other hand in his hoodie, “I mean, yeah what you did wasn’t cool but… I don’t think I could stay mad at you.”

The sky was glowing pink and orange behind Sam as he smiled at him, and shit, Peter hadn’t ever seen something so beautiful. Silence fell over them for a minute, the sound of waves softly crashing against the shore filling the space as he tried to psych himself up.

“So, uh…” Peter didn’t know how to say this, at all, “I’m an idiot.”

Wow. Great romantic profession of love, Peter.

“Pete, seriously, I said we’re okay. I just wanna forget this happened,” Sam replied.

They reached the pier, surprisingly empty underneath the pilings. Peter stopped walking and set down his shoes, and Sam did as well.

“I mean, I’m an idiot because it took me so long to realize that you liked me,” Peter clarified, watching as Sam walked closer to the water.

Sam froze, turning to face him with a red face, “Um. Well, yeah. I like you a lot. Like, a really stupid amount.”

Peter grinned, “Good. Because I would’ve felt like even more of an idiot if I had assumed you did when I said it back.”

“Wait. What?” Sam took a step closer to him, the wind blowing through his hair, “Are you saying you like me back. As in _like_ like me?”

Peter nodded, “Yes, Sam. I _like_ like you too.”

Sam punched his arm lightly, “Dude, what the hell. Lead with the fact that you, Peter Maldonado, actually fucking like me, instead of making me feel like you’re gonna no homo me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve liked you for a long time,” Peter admitted, “Just never realized it till now.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, just... Can I kiss you?”

If Peter had any doubts about how he felt, those fours words made his heart race and brain turn into lovesick mush. He didn’t know how to speak, so he just nodded, inching closer to him.

Sam took his hand, just as he did seven months ago, and gave it a little squeeze, the other hand moving to cup his face. Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, and he could barely breathe, starting to wonder if his stupid asthmatic lungs were going to ruin the moment when Sam finally leaned in and connected their lips.

Logistically, it’s not a perfect kiss. Sam’s sort of digging Peter’s glasses into his face, and their lips are just a fraction off. Plus, the waters starting to creep up on them and get Peter’s jeans wet.

But God, Peter’s nerves are on fire, and nothing else matters. Nothing except for the fact that he’s with Sam, and that’s where he’s meant to be, just another unequivocal truth.

They break this kiss and Sam goes to apologize, but Peter silences him with another, chaste, but this time fitting perfectly.

Their eyes meet as they catch their breath, pupils wide and in disbelief that it finally happened.

“You know, we’ve still got a couple of months left to be cutest couple at Hanover,” Sam quipped, “I mean, we have an acclaimed documentary, which, shit, we need to finish that soon. But, you know, you’re also like, the most beautiful guy there with your fucking eyelashes and shit. Plus, I’m _me_ so—”

“Sam?”

“What?”

Peter rolled his eyes fondly, “Can you shut up for a minute so I can kiss you again?”

“Oh,” Sam blinked, a dopey grin growing on his face, “Yeah, I can totally do that for you.”

He pulled Sam in closer by the back of his neck, angling their faces so they wouldn’t have the glasses issue again. It’s nice, like unnaturally amazing, but he doesn’t really know what else to do because of his lack of experience.

Sam must’ve sensed this because he deepens the kiss, his hand finding Peter’s waist and bringing him closer. His own hands slid down to Sam’s chest, and he lightly pushes him against the nearest piling.

“Okay,” Sam broke apart from the kiss, breathless. Their faces are still so close, lips brushing, and Sam kisses him once more before finishing his sentence, “That was like, really nice. And hot. But I think the tides coming in and as much I’d love to stay here and do this all day, I’d also rather not die, so.”

Peter looked back, noticing that Sam was right, and his jeans were wet halfway up his calf.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call.”

\---

There are a few things Peter Maldonado knows for sure.

One: You can never get enough B-Roll.

Two: He may be smart in some areas, but in others, Peter can be really fucking dumb.

Three: Sam Ecklund is his best friend. And Peter loves him. He always has.


End file.
